Friday, July 22, 2011

Somewhere Hofstander Weeps...

I've really wanted to write a recursive story recently, not a good one necessarily, that'll be for a later post. Instead, I would like to (shamefully) present to you...

The Droste Effect

Patrick was in the Red Room, getting some writing done. He had been working for several weeks trying to make the perfect opening for his most recent short story. It was a recursive story, and the complicated structure of it all forced him to stop several times just to get it all straight. Despite the constant false starts, he finally wrote a beginning he was happy with.

He put down his pen and read through the notebook...

Droste was in the Green Room, getting some writing done. He had been working for several weeks trying to make the perfect opening for his most recent entry to the local pulp magazine. It was a recursive story, and the complicated structure of it all forced him to stop several times just to get it all straight. Despite the constant false starts, he finally wrote a beginning he was happy with.

With a sigh, he lifted his tired hands from the typewriter and read what he had written...

Debbie was in the Blue Room, writing for her next literary club meeting. She had been working for several weeks trying to make the perfect opening to her recursive novelette and the complicated structure of it all forced her to stop several times just to get it all straight. Despite the constant false starts, she finally wrote a beginning that wouldn't be laughed out of the literary club.

With a contented nod she put down her over-sized quill pen to read what she had written...

"No," Patrick thought. "It's not good enough, not yet."

He scratched out large sections from the notebook and started writing a replacement in the margins, laughing as he did so. In only a matter of minutes he had an entirely different story. Patrick looked over the notebook again; the pages were crumpled, wild ink marks ran up and down the sides while huge black scribbles covered everything but the corners.

Still, he read it as best as he could...

Droste was in the Green Room as it rapidly filled with water and hungry eels. He lept onto his desk and fought the eels off with his waterlogged Italian loafers in one hand as he cradled his typewriter in the other. The swarming sea-beasts circled around his desk, snapping at his heels. In between wild swings with his shoe Droste made a revision to his story as best he could with the same hand he was holding the typewriter with...

Debbie was in the Blue Room, writing for her next literary club meeting when a letter miraculously appeared on her desk:

Dear Debbie,

Patrick is causing problems for me, make him stop.

Love,Droste

She pushed the letter to the side with a heavy sigh. Picking up her quill pen, she went to work changing the novelette she had worked so hard on for the past week...

Patrick was in the Red Room, laughing as he added as many ridiculous monsters as he could to his flimsy notebook. It quivered in his hands as he scrawled in such abominable beasts as "ice scorpions" and "sharktopus". Suddenly, a giant spider appeared behind him. Without even stopping his pen, Patrick started to grapple with the arthropods many legs as it tried to snatch the book from him. Just as it wrapped it's arms around it's face to crush him he scrawled onto the last page "and it's all on fire"...

Droste was in the Green Room which was thoroughly on fire and full of strange monsters trying their best to impose the will of their creator on Droste. He had hid himself behind the water damaged and yet on fire shelf as he typed another hasty message...

Another letter appeared on Debbie's desk;

Dear Debbie,

He's still sending me monsters. Tell him that if he doesn't stop I will smash my typewriter.

Sincerely, Droste

She stared out the window of the Green Room for a long moment as she contemplated her next move. Slowly, she made a tear in the corner of her parchment. She continued to pull the rip further until it tore into the words on the page...

Patrick had managed to kill the spider, not even noticing the thin crack that reached across the south wall of the Red Room. Convinced he was alone again, he started to write even more monsters into his story. As he did, more and more cracks began to split his walls apart. The floor shook. The walls creaked and groaned under their own weight.

In that instant, he knew he was doomed. The Red Room split in half, the overstuffed couch and coffee table in the center fell through the floor into a deep colorless abyss below. Patrick watched as the entire room dissolved around him.

"If I am to be destroyed, then so shall you be." He said to the notebook as he tore out it's pages in large handfuls...

The Green Room started to dissolve, the monsters who had claimed it as their domain were melting and oozed through the cracks of the now crumbling room. The once mighty Sharktopus faded away, releasing Droste from it's mighty tentacle. With the monsters gone and the room breaking apart around him, Droste had no choice but to throw his typewriter into the abyss...

Debbie sat at her desk, playing with the scrapes of paper that used to be her parchment. The world around her was getting faint. The color washed away from her vision. With no one to write her ending she would have to face oblivion alone.

...

Again, I would have been ashamed to put this here if I wasn't thoroughly convinced that nobody reads this anymore. You can't stop progress!